Sociopaths, Psychopaths, and Everything in Between
by Livelovelaw
Summary: A Netflix MindHunter AU. Full Summary inside
1. Prologue

Summary:

It was his guilt on the death of his partner, Obi-wan Kenobi, which forced 35-year old Special Agent Benjamin Organa-Solo to retire early as a Special Agent of the Republic Bureau of Investigation. That same guilt was the reason why, of all the people close to Obi-wan, Ben could not bring himself to attend his funeral. That same guilt, preventing him from fully fulfilling the promise he made to the old man – to take care of his adopted granddaughter.

How could he? When he was the reason for her grandfather's death? Never again would Ben go out in the field. Never will he show his face to Obi-wan's granddaughter.

But when a series of killings have disturbed the sleepy silent county of Stewjon, the town where Obi-wan's granddaughter lived, Ben has no choice but to catch the killer.

A Netflix MindHunter AU!

Prologue:

A stare; blank, yet seemingly alert reflected through her eyes as the man before her pushed a red, circular button of the tape recorder. She fixed her eyes at the cassette as its reels turned in a soothing, rhythmic clockwise motion.

She then brought her chained hands on top of the long metallic desk; clasping them together like she was in prayer. "Did you know how hard it is to cut through human flesh?" She asked, although her eyes never left the tape recorder in the middle of the table.

A deep sigh came from the man at the receiving end of her question. He brushed his hair with his long slender fingers; his eyes, closing like he was tired of having this particular conversation. Finally, he crossed his arms and shrugged.

"Tendons, ligaments, and bones dull the knife." He answered nonchalantly.

A cryptic smile crossed the woman's face, her head tilting to her side. "You've done it before?" She asked in amusement.

He straightened in his seat, "Why did you do it?" He asked, never bothering to answer her question.


	2. The Stwejon Killings

Chapter 1: The Stewjon Killings

"What differentiates a serial killer from your average murderer?"

It was a question met by unscrupulous silence, followed by unsure murmurs and whispers. Professor Ben Solo coursed through the aisle of the lecture hall; his thumb clicking and un-clicking his ballpoint pen. Every sound made by the writing instrument was coupled with a glance of expectancy. A hopeful expectancy which was sadly, met by no one.

He made a small sigh, one with a hint of slight disappointment, as he waited for at least one student to raise his or her hand.

"What about spree killers from mass murderers?" He continued wanting to give his students a benefit of the doubt.

Another disappointing silence.

He clicked his pen once more, this time openly sighing in front of the whole class before turning his back to march towards the professor's desk. Professor Solo couldn't wrap his head around the situation for the silence was unusual. His questions were easy — basic, as a matter of fact— and surely can be answered if someone, or anyone, from this class full of hopeful Agents has read their reading assignment.

He could only guess that none of them did.

If there's something that Ben hated more than anything that would be students coming to his class unprepared. He is the teacher of this subject and he himself is responsible enough to read before coming to class. Also, it's not as if Criminal Psychology was an elective. It is a core subject which is very much part of the curriculum of being an agent in the Republic's Bureau of Investigation and yet, the nerve of these God forsaken recruits to not study. Still, he tried his best not to shower a number of failing marks, remembering Dr. Christy Phasma's, Chief of the Behavioral Science Unit of the Bureau, borrowed words of wisdom: be nice.

Ben pat his coat pocket, itching to find his pack of cigarettes. He _is_ nice, he told himself. He found his pack of cigarettes alright, but let go the chance to light a piece of death stick to his utter disappointment. Of course he can't smoke inside the lecture hall, let alone do in front of his class. Instead, he sat on his chair and from his black briefcase he obtained a collection of index cards, neatly stacked and grouped together by a rubber band. He played with the elastic for a full minute, pulling and snapping it towards the cards, readying himself for some recitation.

The snapping sound reverberated all throughout the now restless classroom, making students either wince, jolt, or otherwise avert their eyes from their professor in sheer anxiety—a moment Professor Solo seemingly enjoyed for a while. Finally, when the suspense and tension can no longer keep him satisfied, he removed the rubber from the deck of index cards, before quietly shuffling it in front of his students.

"What are the four basic kinds of serial killers?" Professor Solo started.

Since no one in his class has the slightest idea how to answer his questions, and he can't blow a smoke to help him calm down, he decided on his own that shit is about to go down.

"Almec." Ben said, pulling a card in the middle of the stack.

Matthew Almec, unlucky victim number one, stood nervously, fumbling his thumbs. He kept his head down, and for someone who spent studying Behavioral Sciences for the past decade, Professor Ben Solo knew that from this naive recruit's physiological responses, had no idea what the answer was.

Ben gave Almec a full second to answer before clicking his pen open to write a big red "F" on his card.

"Tambor." Ben called out for his next victim, pulling out another card.

Watt Tambor stood, not before rapidly browsing an open textbook laid out in front of him. He was in the process of turning right in the middle part of the text when Ben raised an eyebrow.

"It's on page 10." Ben uttered, bewildered beyond belief at the sight before him. Tambor kept turning the pages, searching for the dreaded page 10. Too late; Professor Solo already wrote another thick, large F on Tambor's card.

"Clovis." Ben called another.

"The four basic types of serial killers are those who are motivated with: Power and Control, Visionary, Missionary and Hedonistic." Amanda Clovis stood, answering in relief.

Standing up to reach his chalkboard, Ben wrote Clovis' answers on the dark-green surface for everyone to see. Correctly answered, but unremarkable. Of course, the answer had been blatantly obvious because he pointed out where to find it. "That's not my question for you, Ms. Clovis." He said lowly.

The female student froze; her eyes gazing desperately down at the textbook, entitled: Criminal Psychology: An Introduction by Benjamin "Obi-wan" Kenobi and Benjamin Organa-Solo.

"John Doe killed and dismembered a total of seven women in a span of a year. When he was arrested, he said his neighbor's dog made him do it. Where in these four kinds of serial killers does John Doe fall?" Ben propped both his elbows to his sides, his hands leaning on the protruded piece of polished wood, the one which collected chalk dust, for support.

Amanda Clovis chewed her lip. "Vi-visionary?" She mumbled unsurely.

"Is that your answer, Ms. Clovis, or are you asking me?" Ben retorted, another eyebrow up in the ceiling.

A small snort came from someone on the front row before Clovis can even open her mouth. Professor Solo shot a blank glare to its origin not before flicking a piece of chalk towards his target. The white writing instrument hit the student right in the middle of his forehead. He winced at the impact, glaring at his professor, undaunted in meeting the latter's wrath head on. A wrong move, Greedan Hutt realized a minute too late. Professor Solo might have stayed where he was, unmoving and still leaning at the chalkboard but even from such distance, Hutt's glare had been caught, surprisingly matched and subsequently overpowered by dark, merciless, yet blank—almost dead eyes belonging to the person in authority in the room.

"Anything you want to contribute, Mr. Hutt?" Ben mumbled soon after, unamused.

Judging from the way the rest of his students shifted restlessly in their seats, their Professor's tone had now been different. It wasn't the usual low, sometimes threatening, timbre of his voice. It sounded cold – frozen and emotionless yet at the same time menacing. It made his students gulp, for Professor Solo always looked calm, or what they think appeared calm. His facial muscles seldom moved, not even the slightest to form a frown, smile or what not. Couple that with the immoderate paleness of his skin, and those dark eyes that seemingly reflect nothing; neither showing any emotion – even a hint of anger, of disappointment, or anything. One may even think he was dead; like a literal carcass, if they didn't think their professor wasn't already dead inside. And yet the women in his class (and in the Bureau) find him pleasing in the eyes. Maybe it was his lips- thick, plump, and dangerously red that they find attractive; or his aquiline nose that seemed like it was carved by the gods themselves. Or maybe it was that luscious wavy shoulder length raven hair – or the combination of all of his features. It may be contested that those were only his saving grace. But one thing's clear, Professor Solo might appear handsome as he is, at the end of the day, he is terrifying. And just like now, it was his lack of his expression towards Greedun Hutt's insolence that made him ultimately terrifying.

Some of the students uttered small cusses, glaring at their classmate who irked their already irked professor; others, were at least smart enough to focus on their textbook instead. But the man in question arrogantly shrugged his shoulders, before finally standing up. "John Doe is obviously the visionary type." Hutt said nonchalantly; oblivious, or too proud to notice their professor's sudden change of tenor. "They level themselves as messengers of God, or the devil, whoever they choose. In John Doe's case, his demon is the dog. These types of serial killers have mental illnesses with moments of lucid intervals."

Ben returned to the professor's desk, graciously sitting on his chair to look for Hutt's index card. If Greedan Hutt's answer had been correct, Ben might have let his hubris slide - might. But on second thought, he wouldn't. Arrogance is such a strong negative suit, which more often than not leads to one's downfall.

A thin line formed in his lips, "Are they?" It was a broken question to catch Hutt's attention. "Are all serial killers mentally insane?"

Silence from everyone in the room, including Mr. Hutt.

"It's a yes or no question, Mr. Hutt." Ben followed shortly.

"Yeees..?" Greedan Hutt dragged his answer, mouthing it unsurely.

A blank face and a sigh. "You sounded so sure a while ago, Mr. Hutt." Professor Solo said as he wrote an F on his index card.

"Class, in general, are these types of killers insane? In my example, John Doe was told by his neighbor's dog to kill and dismember seven full grown women. Does that particular instance make John Doe ipso facto insane?" Professor Solo tapped his pen on his desk.

Small discussions disguised as whispers echoed through the lecture room. "In fact, during his trial, John Doe was told by his lawyer to plead insanity. And yet, during his arraignment, he never did. Categorically, proudly, and arrogantly, John Doe denied that he was ever insane. So, going back to my question: is John Doe insane?" The professor continued.

Mutters and groans span from the front of the class towards the back. His facts are starting to contradict each other while his questions were going full circle.

"Why do you think, Mr. Hutt?" Professor Solo brought his attention back towards the poor student. He had been standing for at least ten minutes, dumbfounded and from the way blood rushed on his face, Hutt never expected a follow-up question. He had his eyes wide, moving, to look for the answer in the subsequent pages of his textbook. But no matter how hard Hutt searches, he will never find it in a codified text. He has to think; every Agent in the Bureau does. Arrogance in this profession, Ben thought of once again will get you killed.

"Well, Mr. Hutt?" Ben finally said after a minute of silence from Hutt. Ben inhaled deeply, writing another F on his index card.

"Any takers?" The professor directed his attention to the class.

Clovis raised her hand. "Professor, I believe John Doe is sane. An insane person wouldn't know he's insane… therefore…uhhm…" Clovis paused, trying to sound argumentative, although her tone falters at the end. "…if he denies that he's insane, then he probably isn't?"

Amanda Clovis ended up asking Professor Solo once again. But he did not mind, as someone in his class finally worked their brain out, even though the justification came straight from a satirical novel.

"Nice try Ms. Clovis..." Ben replied, sounding a little bit impressed at Clovis' creativeness. "But I've read Catch-22 too. Although you are correct -John Doe wasn't insane although the man suffered psychotic breaks, your explanation should not come from a novel. A C- though, for the effort." Ben supplied, writing a passing mark on Clovis' card.

Quiet hollers of achievement and proud nudges filled Amanda Clovis' shoulders as she took a seat. It was the first time Professor Solo gave a C-.

"When we say that a person is mentally and criminally insane, they are incapable of distinguishing the consequences of their actions; their bounds of morality, non-existent. If asked, a man suffering from insanity would not know that killing and dismembering seven women was wrong…" The professor continued his discussion, clearing his throat. "…John Doe knew his actions were a crime, but did it anyway."

"Yet," Professor Solo lifted his pointing finger. "he suffered from psychotic breaks, as evidenced by his demon dog. From a legal standpoint, his defense lawyer used that fact to prove that he was criminally insane. Ergo, possible exoneration from 7 counts of murder. But as mentioned earlier, during arraignment, he never pleaded insanity. Why do you think is that?"

An avoidance of the dreaded F made most of the students raise their hands. It was a miracle even that Professor Solo was willing to give a C- to a blatantly wrong answer. So, it was either a C- or an F, and it was a risk the recruits were willing to take.

"He felt guilty." Another student raised his hand.

Ben shrugged. "We're talking about psychopaths here. And psychologically speaking, we all know they're incapable of feeling anything close to remorse, Mr. Gregor." He said as he wrote another C- in Mr. Gregor's index card.

The class went wild.

"Mr. Hutt?" Ben circled back at Mr. Arrogant, ultimately cutting short the celebration of Mr. Gregor and the rest of the class. "You were so talkative a while ago, any inputs before I give you your third F for the lecture?"

Greedan Hutt clicked his tongue, but never said a word.

"I'll take that guess." A woman's voice, low and almost hypnotizing put the recitation on hold. A familiar, tall, blond woman was leaning on the door frame, her arms and legs crossed, while openly grinning at her subordinate.

—

"Solo," Dr. Phasma inhaled a smoke. They were outside of the Bureau's cafeteria supposedly enjoying their lunch. Not that anyone of them ordered any food. "You need to stop terrorizing your students." She said exhaling the same smoke she inhaled.

"I wasn't." Ben replied with his own exhalation of clouded gas. "I was nice."

"How many F's did you manage to give today and the lecture the day before?" Phasma raised an eyebrow, not believing her colleague's feigning of innocence.

"Can't remember." He shrugged. "But I gave two C-'s." Ben inhaled another death stick.

"An immature way to teach Mr. Hutt a lesson." Phasma brushed her short blond hair with her slender fingers. "Arrogance will give you three F's, but thinking rationally of an answer, albeit wrong, will earn you barely passing marks.

Ben exhaled a smoke. He stayed silent and let Phasma do what she does best — analyze people.

"Still, three F's for a single student? That's practically overkill." Phasma remarked with concern. "You know all too well that there's no coming back from that."

"He can repeat my subject for all I care." Ben shrugged, indicating no expression of remorse or whatsoever.

"No wonder the students are calling you the Bureau's resident sociopath." Phasma frowned.

"He was an arrogant piece of shit, Phasma. Trust me, it's for his own good." The professor uttered back, not even protesting at the household moniker the recruits had given him.

Phasma silently gave him the side eye. As a believer and practitioner of positive reinforcement, she wasn't proud of her colleague's teaching techniques. But as a psychologist herself, she understands where Ben Solo was coming from. Instilling fear upon students, to the point of making them get petrified by the commission of a single mistake, is a defense mechanism; fear teaches his students to be careful, to be rational, and to be humble. There's no room for mistakes, no space for arrogance, because of all people, Ben knew what it cost.

After a minute long silence, Ben cocked his head towards the woman beside him before blowing a smoke right at her face to catch her attention. "Stop analyzing me, Phasma. You're not my shrink."

"I wasn't." Phasma chuckled the instant she was caught. "...analyzing."

She tried to hide her smirk while she fanned her hand to dispel the smell of burnt nicotine and tar that traveled through her nostrils. "And most certainly, I'm not your shrink." She said as she returned her own gust of smoke to Ben.

"But unfortunately, I'm your boss and I have a job for you." She finally said as she flicked the cigarette butt to the trash, aiming too poorly that she missed the can's opening.

"The Bureau got a call this morning, one that needs our expertise. A series of killings; victims were all 15 to 19 year old women; cause of death varies. But one thing is clear, they were all tied to a cross." Phasma said as she took out another cigarette. She pat her hands on her coat before Ben flicked his lighter and offered.

"I'm retired." He said as he took his own cigarette from his coat pocket.

Phasma didn't bother to argue with her colleague. While indeed Benjamin Solo is retired, it doesn't change the fact that he is a listener; always has been, although in these past years he always pretended to act disinterested. "The first and second bodies were found in Geonosis County –"

"Geonosis?" Ben repeated suddenly, that it made Dr. Phasma smirk inappropriately. "That's five miles from —"

"Stewjon." Phasma continued for her colleague. "...right where the third body was found."

Ben snapped his head towards Phasma, mouth gaping open.

"I thought Obi-wan's granddaughter was more of an obligation." Phasma took a drag of smoke before giving him another side eye upon noticing Ben's change of demeanor. "Up until now, I never thought you cared."

Ben brushed his hair with his fingers, irritated. "She's fifteen; fits perfectly with the killer's M.O—" Ben stopped midway. He gritted his teeth, remembering that he was not only talking to his boss, but also a God damn licensed psychiatrist.

"Why are you bringing her—this- up?" Ben shook his head, irked at the change of topic.

"Because the circumstances finally permit it." Phasma exhaled, deep, and almost sounding tired. "She lives in Stewjon. And I know you care about her more than you admit."

Ben closed his eyes. He's not looking for an argument; neither was he looking for a conversation that would remind him of the past. "Stop this." He sighed in defeat.

"It's been five years, Ben. Are you even sure of her age? Do you even know what she looks like?" Dr. Christy Phasma matched his sigh.

Ben only massaged his temples in response. The doctor had no intention of stopping.

"Of course you don't. You didn't even try to reach out." She continued, not giving Ben an opportunity to answer. "Ever since Obi-wan died you never –"

"Enough!" Ben roared, his chest heaving. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground, stomping on the remainder of the death stick like it was his enemy. "I'll take that god damn case, if that's what you're trying to point out."

"You do know that it's not."Dr. Christy Phasma stood, and with her high heels, she leveled with the professor's towering height. "But very well," She said, sounding satisfied. "Case files will be delivered to your desk. The Stewjon's Chief of Police will be expecting you a day after tomorrow."

She took one last glance at Professor Solo before she walked way. "Welcome back to the field, Agent Solo."


	3. The Letters to Ren

Chapter 2: The Letters to Ren

The wind blew strangely in her face that it made her shiver.

The gust felt cold; icy, in fact, which never happens in the place where she spent the happiest years of her life. Stewjon, a small landmass found in the southwest of the Republic, is a fishing county, far away from the northern part of the country where the climate is very much different. Unlike other places where they enjoy the four seasons, here, you only get the sun and rain; which, if you come to think of it, is beneficial for someone like Rey who, during her earliest years, lived in a desert somewhere in the middle of the Republic.

The summer in Stewjon may be scorching hot as an ordinary day in Jakku but during the rainy season, well that's another story. Aside from the little droplets of rain (which she herself enjoys) or sometimes oncoming typhoons (which everyone detests), the weather in the small fishing county during the wet season could also be as cold as a mundane night in the desert. But not this cold. For some strange reason, the air felt like little daggers stabbing her skin, pretty much probably like a blizzard on a winter's day, although Rey herself cannot speak from experience. Either way, the cold made her shudder uncontrollably that she drew her arms towards her shoulders to shield her from the freezing temperature.

Weird.

Still, she never put too much thought on it for there might be a valid reason for the numbing coldness. Maybe, it was the fact that she was in the middle of the Stewjon forest, a luscious scene of vast green and brown situated in its northern part of the county, nearest to the boarder of its neighboring county, Geonosis. Or maybe it was the fact that she was sweating from head to toe that the sudden fluttering of the wind caused her to be this cold.

She then took her gaze up, the dense green of the gigantic trees providing her cover from the sunlight. With the sun this high and no indication whatsoever of an oncoming storm, it was rather peculiar that an ordinary afternoon in Stewjon would be this cold.

Weird, she asked herself out loud this time, not minding the chills. Why is she in the middle of the Stewjon forest perspiring?

She didn't even have the chance to find answers to her questions when her chest felt heavy. For some reason, Rey found herself huffing; suddenly heaving agonizingly. She took air and exhaled it with immense effort to the point that she choked on the oxygen her lungs desperately craved.

Eager to rest, Rey brought her hands to her knees, and that's when she realized that they were shaking uncontrollably. Not before long, she boldly took a step forward, only to tumble to the ground. In an instinct to cushion her fall, Rey planted her palms on the soft green grass. But the support she'd given herself wasn't enough — her strength wasn't enough that her chin hit the ground.

Rolling on her back, she yelped in pain as she tried to nurse her now lacerated chin.

Weird, she thought once more. It was rather peculiar that she felt tired; beat up in fact, that her whole body was aching. Her muscles, from her arms to her legs were sore; tender from over exhaustion. How so, when she wasn't doing anything prior? But was she? If she wasn't doing anything, why was she so exhausted?

Rey wanted to think but her eyelids started to grow heavy; her body desperately seeking a moment's rest, even just for a minute.

The forest seemed to have other plans. Soon, a cracking sound echoing behind the gigantic trees made her open her eyes wide in alertness. A force — a person's foot or an animal's paw — broke what seems to be a tree branch.

The splitting sound roaring through the eerie silence made her come to senses. But Rey never reacted in shock — not a gasp, yelp, or a scream — nothing. Neither did her eyes made an attempt to search where the sound originated. Her movements that followed soon after were rather, automatic. Her mind and body was telling her one thing, and one thing only — run!

With adrenaline coursing through her body, Rey followed her instincts. She ran, without even questioning herself why. She started huffing for air; skipping and jumping over tree roots and large rocks that blocked her way.

She is exhausted, that, she felt deep in her core. But that's not all. Her heart has been hammering non-stop inside her chest; her palms, still full of dirt and mud from her earlier fall, sweating uncontrollably.

If such bodily reaction was coming from her tiredness, then it would have been understandable. But there is something else at play in this quiet, cold forest. There was fear, unknown and uncalled for, brewing inside of her whole existence.

She is terrified.

At what?

The question made her heart beat faster; her dirty hands sweat further. Fear, it seems, was a more powerful force that her adrenaline filled subconscious. It made her lose her focus that she ended up tripping on an exposed root; her chin, once more taking the toll of her fall. She immediately sat on her buttocks; trying to nurse the ache on her foot. It shouldn't hurt this much especially when she's wearing her combat boots. She held her feet but she felt no footwear. It was just her aching naked, muddy, and now scraped feet.

Weird, she thought still. But the peculiarity of her situation didn't deserve a second thought. She proceeded to heave once more, gulping in the process to swallow the fear and panic that's now consuming her. She is afraid, desperately so, but she couldn't find any rational justification for it. Rey never really didn't see what's coming after her; no smell; no other sound than the breaking of the tree branch, and yet the mere cracking noise sent her running for her life.

There were so many questions in her mind that she never got the opportunity to answer: How long had she been running? Why were her feet suddenly naked? Where are her damn shoes? Why is it so dark? She hasn't been running for a full twenty minutes, how did the sun set so fast? What was following her?

The answers didn't matter, not when the grass, or what she assumed was, rustled again from the ground. Soon, a sound: high and rumbling came along with it. It was friction of an instrument, surely metal, colliding with the floor bed of the forest. Then, it stopped, the sudden silence making Rey freeze in sheer nervousness. Despite her heart pounding right through her ears, Rey tried to concentrate on her surroundings.

That's no wild beast, she concluded.

"What do you want?" Rey cried bravely.

Whoever it was, it didn't elicit any answer. Instead, the metallic clang continued to drag on.

She bit her lip, readying to stand again. But as soon as the grass rustled on her movement, a swooshing sound echoed through the forest. Before she knew it, her instincts had set her legs apart and between them, a hatchet had pinned itself right in between her legs.

Her breath hitched; eyes wide in terror and shock as she stared at the weapon that would have killed her, if not for her presence of mind or just sheer luck.

She yelped, planting her arms to the ground as she scurried to get on her feet. Before she knew it, she was running. This time, for her life.

That hatchet, it cannot be thrown on some accident. Someone's out in the forest trying to kill her.

But why?

"Sweetheart!" A voice, accompanied by that wretched metal dragging sound, sung in sing song. "Stop running, sweetheart."

Rey gulped, momentarily closing her eyes to swallow the gut wrenching fear eating her whole. She focused all of her remaining energy at the sprint that would make her beat death. In the process of it all, she never dared to look back, why would she? Why would she attempt to face whoever it was that was hunting her like she was its prey?

The only thing that's on her mind was to get away from the forest; towards safety — the high way! Whether it's on Geonosis or in Stewjon, where ever, she just needed to find the road.

Rey ran and ran and ran, until she realized that the shadows of the now ominous trees were getting repetitive. With no sun above her, no moonlight to guide her way, she was lost — like a rat trapped inside a man-made maze.

She was just going in circles.

This time, the fear she was trying so hard to control had spilled through her tears.

She had no way out.

"Sweetheart." The voice called once more, this time too close that the little hairs on her nape stood in caution. It seemed though, that the hatchet-wielding monster was just behind her; whispering on her ear. She snapped her head, searching for what's behind her.

There was nothing.

She gulped, dashing once more. This time, trying a different direction. She would get out of this forest, one way or another — alive.

Finally, hope shone through her. There were beaming lights just meters away from her. Streetlights, strobe lights, it didn't matter. What's important is she finally found the road. With new found energy, Rey made her way towards the highway, but her bare feet skidded the ground, for there it was — the shadow of a person, wielding a hatchet.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" It called her.

She couldn't see who it was, neither could she recognize a figure. All she could see was a shadow — a towering, gigantic shadow wielding a silver weapon.

"What do you want?!" Rey gritted her teeth, fighting the onslaught of fear and terror in her veins.

There was never a reply. Instead, The monster before her played with the weapon in its hands.

Rey took a nervous step back. She inhaled heavily, contemplating for her very own survival: would she make a run for it, or would she fight the unknown shadow that's blocking her way towards safety.

"Oh." The monster said in sing-song, the ominous melody of its low voice making her shiver. "You can't fight me, sweetheart. You'll never win." It said menacingly, as if reading her thoughts.

Rey violently shook, enveloped in instant terror that whatever resolve she had fell instantly to the ground. There was nothing inside her but fear at the hopeless realization that she will die in the hands of an unknown hatchet-wielding monster.

"Please." She pleaded through her tears. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Pearly whites shone through what seemed to be the monster's mouth. "That's the thing, sweetheart." It said as the hatchet rose from his side. Up and up the hatchet went, like it was floating in midair. "You did nothing wrong."

A shriek, high and loud, echoed in Rey's throat as she took cover. It was stupid of her to think that the weapon was floating. Whoever it was, the monster had successfully thrown it back towards her, thankfully slamming on a tree trunk just inches away from her head.

For the last time, Rey ran; back towards the forest and away from the hatchet-wielding monster. Screw the highway, she thought. It didn't matter anymore. She will outrun it, if it's the last thing she'll do.

Then out of the dastardly darkness; the panic and the fear, Rey suddenly collided into something hard — a tree, or a wall, or worse, the monster, she didn't know.

"Get away!" She screamed anyway, panic shooting straight right to her head. She hit it, pouncing and pounding with all her remaining strength that her fists finally landed on what seemed to be a human chest. She struggled, kicking and punching still. She needed to get away from it.

Please.

She didn't want to die.

"Rey!"

She screamed upon hearing her name; hands, punching air. She woke up, sweating in her own bed, her pillows and blankets on the cold wooden floor of her bedroom.

Rey placed her hands on her chest, finally realizing that whatever it was was just in her head. It was just a dream — another nightmare.

Fuck, she cursed.

She never bothered to pick up the mess on her bedroom floor, neither did she allow herself to fully calm down. Instantly, she went over her desk, taking out a pen and a clean sheet of paper from her drawer, to start writing:

_Dear Mr. Ren,_

_I had another nightmare... and they're getting worse. Ever since I found that body in the Stewjon forest, I wasn't able to get some decent sleep. I find it peculiar really, because it's not unusual for me to see dead bodies. After all, I have been working as a detective for the past few years and I too have my fair share of carcasses. Yes, just so you know, I'm a detective now. Of course, you never knew because you said we should never talk about personal stuff and all, but yeah... surprise!_

_Anyway, going back... this... the teenager tied to a cross, it brings me nightmares... and honestly, Mr. Ren I am terrified. I don't know what's wrong with me. But I really do not know what to do. I was just hoping that I could, you know, see you... not to bother you of course, but you... your letters... our correspondences, it helps me calm down. And I really need your help right now, please. I hope you would indulge me of this selfish request._

_Love, _

_Rey_

Rey sighed, scribbling on the sheet of paper to form a large "x" mark. She then took the same sheet of paper and stacked it on inside a notebook on top of her desk. After which, she took another clean sheet of paper, writing once again.

_Dear Mr. Ren, _

_How's work in the Bureau? I know you told me that we shouldn't talk about your line of work, or personal stuff in general. Like you know, keepin' it chill and casual. But during the past few weeks, Stewjon and Geonosis had been troubled by murders... It's... complicated really, our chief says it's not related (surprise, I'm a detective!). But as I recalled from reading grandfather's and your colleague Benjamin Solo's book, I have this hunch that the killings were done by one and the same person — a serial killer — as the Bureau would describe it. Truthfully, I was the first responding officer when the body was found in the boarder of Stewjon and right now I have nightmares about it —_

"Fuck!" Rey cussed out loud, putting another "x" mark on her letter. She slid the piece of paper once more in her notebook before finally taking another sheet of clean paper.

She exhaled heavily this time before she wrote:

_Dear Mr. Ren,_

_Hi, how are you?_

_If you're going to ask about me, I'm fine. Nothing out of the ordinary... just this boring life here in Stewjon. I know I'm writing sooner than we scheduled, but I... well... I was just wondering, when can I finally meet you? I can go to Carouscant you know, infiltrate the Bureau and ask for you. Hehe, just kidding. I know you're a busy man, but if you could just indulge my selfish request... that would be really awesome._

_With lots of love, _

_Rey_

Finally, Rey sighed. A letter she can send.


	4. The Detective at Stewjon

Chapter 3: The Detective at Stewjon

Five Years Ago, underneath the Tiavana Bridge, Southwest Yavin

"God fucking damn it." Special Agent Benjamin Solo slapped his neck; missing, his supposedly third mosquito of the night.

"Language, Golden Boy." Special Agent Benjamin "Obi-wan" Kenobi, his partner, muttered under his breath as he too slapped his cheek. The squawking sound was immediately followed by a proud holler as he finally caught one of the pesky insects.

"This was your idea." The old man followed soon, groaning in regret and disgust as the remains of the now crushed insect felt sticky on his palm. He decided to casually wipe his filthy appendage on the side of his car seat before proceeding to squint to observe his surroundings. When he thought that nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen, Obi-wan shifted in his seat, grunting and frowning uncomfortably to focus his energy on something else. He then took a can from the car's dashboard, shaking it violently, before lazily throwing it back to its origin. Apparently, their mosquito repellant had ran out and there they are bathing in their own perspiration, in a cramped vehicle parked underneath a god forsaken bridge, left to be feasted by damn insects.

"An idea you approved." Despite being in the wee hours of the morning, Ben Solo grunted at the unbelievable Yavin heat as he wiped a bead of sweat trickling from his forehead; while his other hand was already busy searching his trouser pocket for a cigarette. "This is on you." He casually smirked as he lit his piece of death stick.

Obi-wan rolled the windows down to disperse the smoke his partner has been polluting their car with. "Yeah," he sighed, surprisingly agreeing with Ben. "It better work."

Prior to the Republic Bureau of Investigation taking over the case, their unknown assailant had been dumping bodies in the Tiavana Forest. But the Yavin Killer, or what the local police are calling him now, is smart, if not well-informed. The series of killings have been all over the local news; even catching the attention of the central government. Hence, even with the supposedly news blackout, the press, in one way or another, obtained information regarding the investigation.

A slip from pesky journalists and the Yavin Killer knew that carpet fibers were found in his victims' bodies. Thus, instead of his usual way of disposing carcasses, the Yavin Killer thought of something else — throw bodies in the river so that evidence will be washed along with the current.

It was Special Agent Solo's idea to put the bridges under surveillance – a bold assumption from Ben, figuring that the Yavin Killer could not resist. Their assailant, whoever he was, had narcissistic tendencies: He follows himself on the news; therefore, enjoys the attention he gets from the press. Thus, he would kill more just to satisfy that attention, and with that change of M.O., sooner or later, a body will be jettisoned from one of the county's bridges. To the local police though, Solo's plan was beyond realistic. They didn't believe him obviously not when he's spewing theories based on psychological mumbo jumbo.

The truth is neither Obi-wan nor Ben could blame the police's skepticism. Analyzing behavioral patterns as a mode of catching criminals is still quite an unknown field in law enforcement (even though Ben and Obi-wan have been studying this field for ten years already). And contrary to the younger agent's hypothesis, the Yavin police were convinced that there is no way that their killer will risk himself from getting caught. One: the police, Bureau and the whole Yavin government are onto him; and two: if he was guilty, it would be of reasonable deduction that he would hide himself from incarceration. That is basic logic; and practically rudimentary police work.

If there was a silver lining, it would be the older of the two Agents. When you're naturally charismatic as Obi-wan, you can convince, nay, force the Yavin County Police to spare its resources to accommodate your partner's plan. But truth be told a four week straight stake-out, with zero results, had been very taxing. Budget had been tight and with the upcoming elections, politicians are being a pain in every cop's ass.

With those considerations in mind, Ben could only glance warily at his colleague and mentor. Between their partnership, Obi-wan is the optimistic one. If he was worried, then their plan might not actually work, and that is on Ben.

"Shit." Ben cussed as he glanced at his wrist watch. 1:00 am, it said; four hours in underneath this bridge and still, nothing.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, the heat coursing through his esophagus that he already tasted burnt wood. The younger agent was restless for their time is running out. Politics, it seems, was more important than solving this particular crime that claimed fifteen lives in a span of eight months. Yavin, like most developing cities, did not want the whole world to know that they have a deranged killer on the loose. No, scratch that, it's not that shallow — the Yavin government did not want the public to figure out that they are having a difficult time catching their assailant. Thus, the culprit must be caught ASAP or otherwise be pinned against someone else, whichever is convenient to those blood sucking politicians.

To make the long story short, the political pressure had set Republic Bureau of Investigation on a deadline. And that deadline is today. They will be out of Yavin tomorrow, whether they catch someone or not.

"Since when do you get pressured, Golden Boy?" A loud, unamused scoff came from Obi-wan's lips. "You're always confident with your hunches." The old man's smirk got hidden under his thick, grayish-white mustache.

It was a joke, one that didn't sit well with Ben. There were just too much at stake. For the Maker's sake, of course he would feel the pressure. It's not only his neck that's on the line with this plan. Obi-wan's neck too, given the mere fact that he agreed with him, and he doesn't want to risk that.

Ben crossed his arms, glowering in his seat like a kid in tantrums before snapping his head to face his partner to give him a piece of his mind. He better bring the issue now so they could think of what to say to the Bureau's director; just in case this plan of theirs fails.

"Quick, take a look at my granddaughter!" The older Benjamin giggled, but not without accidentally slamming a worn-out photograph right into Ben's nose. No, knowing Obi-wan, he deliberately hit him with his palm, only using his granddaughter's picture as an excuse.

"God damn it, Kenobi! You know this nose is too long for anyone's liking." Ben cried, muffling a growl as he covered the center of his face to nurse the hurt.

"But have you seen her?" Obi-wan folded his arms as he faced him, clearing not paying attention to the trouble he caused.

Ben massaged his nose bridge, "Oh my dear, Maker." He growled, nearly rolling his eyes in irritation.

"Have you seen her?" Obi-wan repeated, still shaking the photo in front of him.

"Yes, I've seen her." Ben finally sighed in defeat. Of course he'd seen her; in those years they have been working together, how many time has Obi-wan flashed that photograph right in his face?

In fact, seen is an understatement. In the countless times Obi-wan showed this particular photo of his granddaughter, Ben had already memorized her features. He can describe, maybe put into a rough sketch, this child in the name of Rey Kenobi even with his eyes closed. The little five year old girl; thin – skin and bones to be precise; her height, too small compared to other children of her age. She wore a white shirt; dirty, torn on the right shoulder, and oversized that it somehow compensated as a make shift dress. On her head were a set of pigtails: uneven in thickness and in height that one can presume that nobody took their time to care for her. Well, there was no need to presume. Prior to Obi-wan adopting her, the child was indeed neglected.

A picture paints a thousand words, so they say, and even though the girl, at her tender age, appeared like she had already been through hell and back; that, despite how her cheeks sunk due to lack of nutrition, or how, for some reason a five year old girl already had dark circles underneath those big, beautiful hazel eyes, one thing was certain: the wide smile on her face unmistakably screams of happiness.

Maybe it was the fact that she was holding a cute porg stuffed toy in her thin, bony hands, or just the mere fact that she was given a toy gave her a reason to smile. Maybe it was that superficial. She was, in all aspects, still a child. They enjoy the little things, thanks to their innocence.

A small smirk of disbelief (on himself) crossed Ben's lips. He remembered Rey Kenobi's face all too well in that photograph, and to justify her happiness to be based on a mundane thing such as a toy is quite a blow on his own expertise as an Agent in the Behavioral Psychology Unit of the Bureau. That heavenly, adorable smile is one that exudes contentedness; solace, in the presence of the man whose hands were gently draping on her shoulders as if it was a way to tell her that she would never be alone again — Obi-wan, who had gone out of his way to provide her with a new home. Most importantly, that smile was one of relief and sheer glee — one that ultimately says that she was thankful that she has found a new family.

Disguising to preoccupy himself with lighting another death stick, Ben took a stealthy glance at the worn out photograph in Obi-wan's hands. He said he was sick of Obi-wan mentioning his granddaughter all the time, but who is he kidding? Just like Rey's doting grandfather, Ben too sometimes just want to stare at the child's contagious gleeful smile especially when things in their line of work get out of hand.

When you spend almost a decade interviewing persons convicted of violent crimes – serial killers, most of them, just to obtain data, profiles, and categorize their behavioral patterns to predetermine the possible commission of these crimes or give law enforcement agents the slightest information on how to catch such culprits, more often than not, you'll never be sure if you will come out with your sanity still intact. Ben knows because there were years when he questioned himself, his own mind; his own lucidity. He was able to analyze just by conducting interviews, the mindset of these types of people; their motivation; their crazy, for lack of a better term.

He was the Bureau's smartest, so he heard, that sometimes his intelligence, analytical and dedction skills were mistaken into something else. Analyzing felons convicted of violent crimes is one thing but understanding them — to the point that he knew how to naturally engage in a conversation, eliciting answers no one else can — like he knew exactly how they think, that is a different skill altogether.

There is a reason why some people in the Bureau had started calling him its resident sociopath. It takes one to know one, as the saying goes, and truth be told, there were times that even Ben himself believes that he indeed has become deranged. More often than he can count, Ben cannot dispel the demons whispering in his head. The voices are just there, readying to pounce; waiting for the opportune moment when he will finally accept the cold hard truth that something is wrong with him; that he too he is the kind of man he'd been trying so hard to catch.

It came out of nothing but the mere thought of him having an abnormal mind made his breath hitch; his heart, unbelievably pounding erratically inside his chest. Immediately, Ben took an unusual long drag of his cigarette, trying to use it as an excuse to cover the sheer anxiety at the thought that he is a sociopath.

"Adorable, isn't she?" Obi-wan chuckled out of nowhere.

"What?" Ben coughed hard as he dispelled the smoke filling his lungs, distracted at Obi-wan's words.

"My little Rey." Obi-wan pointed the obvious for his younger partner while beaming his cheesiest smile. "Isn't she the most adorable?"

Ben smirked, wanting to shake his head at the unbelievable timing of Obi-wan's not-so-random thought about his granddaughter. It was peculiar, really, that Obi-wan knew exactly when to bring his little granddaughter into the picture. Maybe the old man notices his anxiety; and knew the fact that the mere sight or the slightest conversation about that little girl wearing uneven pigtails calms him down. In fact, calm is an understatement. When Rey is being brought up, everything else comes to a stand still. There is nothing in his head but silence; solace — peace of mind.

Weird, for Ben never really knew why. Maybe it was that innocent smile of hers. For him, her smile — Rey as a whole, rather, was a beacon of hope; hope that even if the world turns to shit or is already shit, for some reason, everything will still be alright.

How Obi-wan knew that, he'll never know. Ben is too proud of a man to ask Obi-wan. Either way, the old man knew exactly what to do and when to do it. Most especially when his thoughts begin to become intrusive; readying to eat him alive, just like now.

"Yeah..." Ben unwittingly muttered under his breath. He chuckled soon after, brushing his hair with his long slender fingers upon realizing that his breathing had just normalized itself.

"...a Rey of sunshine." Ben continued as he lightly chuckled at the pun her name made.

Ben never knew if the sound that came out of Obi-wan's lips was a cough or that he was choking so suddenly. He would rather think of both, for purposes of not wanting to humiliate himself in front of the old man. At the back of his head though, Ben thought that Obi-wan was probably holding the urge to chuckle out loud because he was suddenly being so fucking cheesy. In any case, Obi-wan immediately made up for his cough/choke/impeded laughter with a cheesy smile of his own. "You should visit Stewjon sometime, she will hate you." The old man finally got a chance to chuckle out loud.

This time it was Ben's turn to scoff, answering his partner's sarcasm with a dose of his own. "The feeling's mutual." He shrugged. "I hate kids."

"She's no kid." A smirk, devious and playful etched Obi-wan's lips.

"If her grandfather is as immature as you, then a five year old is an adult." Ben too, smirked.

"I will have you fucking demoted when we get back to Carouscant." Obi-wan warned jokingly.

"Language, old man. You kiss your granddaughter with that mouth?" Ben, surprisingly, gave out a loud laugh.

Obi-wan responded with a hearty chuckle of his own. They ended up laughing inside their hot, cramped sedan, which in all fairness in their current assignment, is highly inappropriate.

"Would you take care of her?" Obi-wan suddenly said, surprising Ben that it made him choke, literally.

"What?" The younger agent sounded utterly confused with the abrupt change of topic and atmosphere.

"If... something happens to me, will you —" The old man never got to continue.

Static echoed in their vehicle; their police radio, abruptly clicking. "I head a splash!" A Yavin officer roared through the radio.

Obi-wan shifted in his seat as he looked at Ben who was now holding their vehicle's radio. "Are you positive?" He answered in a hurry.

"I'm positive. It's a loud fucking —" The officer didn't get to continue as Obi-wan cut him off.

"Where?" The older agent cried in haste.

The engine sputtered as Obi-wan started to ignite it. Almost immediately they drove to the location where the said police officer spotted a white sedan near where the splash was heard.

It was the last time they talked about their little Rey of sunshine.

—

Present day; 25 miles to the Boarder of Stewjon

Ben gritted his teeth as his foot lay heavy on the gas pedal. He decided to drive all the way from the Republic's capital to the fishing county of Stewjon in order to clear his head. Well, he had been driving non-stop for at least three-quarters of the day, and his head has never been filled with gripping anxiety. The worst part is, with all the time he had, he actually started reminiscing.

He wasn't very fond of reminiscing as he figured for himself a long time ago. He, in so many instances, would rather distance himself from his own memories; forget them, or better yet deny that they ever existed altogether. Thought suppression, a type of motivated forgetting where an individual consciously attempts to stop thinking about a particular thought, would have been effective — if it wasn't such a double edged sword. More often than not, the more you want to forget, the more intrusive your thoughts become. Just like how a scaredy cat pretends to not get terrified by thinking there is no shadow hiding behind the dark. More often than not, that same person would think that there is something there lurking behind the shadows; ergo, terrifying that person more.

Shadows in the dark, that would probably best describe Ben's memories; whether they were happy or sad memories, it didn't matter, they are just shadows that he tried so hard to pretend that are non-existent. And yet every time he closes his eyes; or during times when his world felt eerily silent; when his alone, there they are, springing into existence once again. Just like today.

"Stop judging me." Ben gave a side-eye to his only companion in this gruelling journey towards his new assignment.

His passenger never responded though. How could it when it was a larger than life porg plushie, tucked safely underneath the seatbelt.

Ben irritatedly rolled his eyes, all at the fact that the goddamn toy is not reacting; also, at the stupidity that he is talking to a stuffed-animal, hoping that it would make a good comeback; and just the sheer fact that he bought the toy at the instant he laid eyes on it in front of a store.

He bought it as a gift for Rey, a decision which he's starting to regret. How in the world will he give it to her when he doesn't even know how to approach her in the first place? It's not as if he can suddenly intrude in her life and say what? 'Hey kid, I'm supposed to take care of you, but I didn't. And oh, I'm the reason why you're grandfather is dead, so here's a pretentious stuffed penguin to make it up for it.'

"Shit!" He cursed out loud, finally punching his steering wheel. Of course he can't say that.

Or maybe, he can just not see her altogether. She probably doesn't know of his existence, neither the fact that he's travelling to Stewjon to solve a case. Maybe he can get away with that— Solving a murder without, in anyway, letting her know that he's there. Or maybe, maybe Kylo Ren can do the trick.

Kylo Ren, the persona he made up to once in a while check on Rey, might actually work.

Ben momentarily chewed his lips in contemplation. Bringing up Kylo Ren would be a gamble for it would, at some point, expose him, Ben Solo, to Rey.

He sighed heavily, giving another side-eye at the porg stuffed toy. "What do you think?" He asked the inanimate object, still pathetically hoping that it would provide enlightenment for his very confused mind.

If there was a reaction, it was the porg's glass eyes shimmering as it was hit by the setting sun. Immediately, Ben clicked his tongue, as if he got the answer he wanted to hear. "Yeah." He uttered under his breath upon his own realization. He cannot hide himself from her. He needed to be close.

"I'm not here not only to solve this case. I'm here to protect her." He said to the inanimate object.

— —

Ben arrived in Stewjon in the wee hours of the morning. He would have chosen to sleep at a dilapidated and the only motel at the center of the town but he decided to drive around in an attempt to relax and come up with a plan. Well, he already circled the quiet main roads of the central of Stewjon for the third time and still, he got no plan in mind.

Prior to his arrival, Ben told himself that he show himself to Rey in order to protect her. But the undaunted fear and unbridled uncertainty decimated his already flimsy resolve as soon as he arrived in Stewjon.

Now, he doesn't know what to do anymore.

Ben sighed soon after, absentmindedly making a hard right. To his surprise, he ended up in a more familiar part of the town; too familiar that it can be said that the place was one that is too close to his heart.

The structure never changed despite all these years; that same broken wooden window pane still hanging dangerously on the edges of its frame — still unfixed.

A small scoff echoed Ben's lips, for that old man, even when he was still alive, never bothered to repair it.

It was a compulsive itch to play carpenter that made him park his car to the curb. If Obi-wan didn't have the time nor energy to fix his own home's broken window, Ben might as well do it now. And yet, a second thought sprang out of his mind that prevented him at the attempt to jump out of his vehicle in pure haste. He shouldn't do such thing. It was uncalled for; it's none of his business. Just like how he had no right to suddenly intrude at Rey's life after all those years of unfulfilled promise to Obi-wan.

He sighed soon after, reclining heavily on the driver's seat. In retrospect, no promise to the old man was ever made. Their conversation about taking care of Rey, was random; probably accidental, and was brought up because of the fact that they were already talking about their Rey of sunshine in the first place.

In short, Ben never neglected Rey because there was no pact made, whether written or unwritten, between the Obi-wan and him. Rationally speaking, no obligation ever arose from it. Still, Ben can conjure all kinds justifications, excuses and rationalizations all he wanted. If he's not bothered with Obi-wan's unilateral declaration five years ago, why did he take it upon himself that he would take care of Rey right after they caught the Yavin killer? Why did he bother conjuring a make-up persona? What purpose did Kylo Ren really serve Rey's narrative? And why, in the first place, is he here in Stewjon at the first sight of possible danger to Rey?

Fuck Phasma for being correct, Ben thought. He cares for that little girl more than he wanted to admit.

He sighed once more, massaging his temples. There is no use to question himself on the decisions he or may not have made for one thing was certain — he needed to take care of that orphaned child but didn't.

Now, the only question is if he has the guts to confront and fix the mistakes he made.

Tomorrow, maybe, he thought. Ben will figure it out tomorrow.

—

Golden rays of light slowly crept towards his face, disrespectfully disturbing his exhaustion-induced slumber. No, scratch that. It was a knock somewhere in his vehicle, heavy and with a sense of urgency, that it made Ben jolt all of a sudden.

He grunted sleepily, not minding the sudden disruption. Whatever it was, it could wait for his sleep was better — calm, and surprisingly happy. In his dreamy subconscious, Rey was there, the child in an uneven pigtails. She was smiling as he told her everything. And she wasn't, in any way, angry with him and did not blame him for her grandfather's sudden demise. Ben shifted; changing his position to lean his head on the car window.

"Five more minutes..." He uttered a low grumble of a plea, still half-asleep. Five more minutes of that smile.

This time, the knocking coursed through his ear, just on the other side of the window; the sound coupled with annoying vibrations on the lightly tinted car glass that made his head literally shake.

Ben blink to many times, still fighting the urge to wake. But he squinted soon after, for the morning light had bounced into something metallic; gold, in fact, that the reflection blinded his half-opened eyes. He brought his hand to cover his face before turning his head to the side in order to search where the distracting object was coming from.

Soon, he tilted his his head like confused pup. It was the longest time he fixed his eyes on something — or someone — without any other intention but to well, stare. More often than not, Ben's gazes were always filled with analysis; figuring out first impressions — judgments. In short, he was always skeptic because people don't always seem like what they appear. Well, at least serial killers aren't.

But the woman on the other side of his window didn't look like a sociopath, psychopath, or everything else in between. She was like an apparition — a saint, or an angel — staring right back at him. The crisp golden rays of light shone brightly behind her like halos of the divine, greatly emphasizing the brown hue of her hair, and the distinct hazel color of her big eyes.

Absentmindedly, Ben lowered his windows, itching to get a full unimpeded view of her.

For some reason, the angel in question clicked her tongue before stepping on his car sill to level herself with the height of his SUV. She proceeded to do the unexpected — literally throwing half her body inside Ben's vehicle through the now wide open window.

Ben froze, unable to immediately react at the sudden intrusion. The woman's neck was directly on his line of sight; almost brushing his nose to be exact. She smelled like gun powder for some reason, but that didn't deserve his second thought for almost immediately, one of her palms, planted itself right in between his legs (thank the Maker they were wide open); the other reaching for something way inside his vehicle. His breath hitched nervously; his heart, pounding loudly inside his chest; his palms, started to sweat.

What is she doing? That's all that came to his mind.

This time, the woman cocked her head to face him; her big hazel eyes widening to form a glare. He blinked, just a microsecond so that he wouldn't miss staring at her face. Even with such threatening eyes, she still looked like divinity.

A mechanical tick from below his steering wheel, followed by an irritated click from her tongue made him realize that his car just run out of gas, and his air-conditioning unit was running on an empty tank.

"Do you want to die from carbon monoxide poising?" She immediately voiced out his thoughts.

Oh, the angel talks, he thought.

"Who the hell sleeps inside his car without turning off his fucking engine?" She continued, finally wiggling herself back to the now heated road.

Oh, the angel curses and is surprisingly rude.

"Hello?!" She placed her hands on her hips; her tone, albeit angry, faltered a little at the end. If Ben didn't know she was obviously distraught, she sounded like he was worried for him — a total stranger.

Still, his mind was blank; his ear hearing soft buzzes coming out of nowhere. He tried to move, but was stopped by a head-splitting pain on his temples. Ben groaned, hard, at the sudden discomfort. He leaned on the car's door frame, wanting to catch his breath.

Maybe the pain in his head was due to his lack of sleep, or maybe, he was indeed dying from the poisonous gas that circulated his vehicle while he was asleep.

Ben thought he heard a gasp of shock. He wasn't so sure because it was muffled by the sound of his car door opening, and his own distressed groan, to be specific.

He fell, obviously, as the support of the metal frames of his car door disappeared as the woman forced them open. Ben didn't have the energy to cushion his fall, and yet, he didn't hit the ground. Hands, slim but surprisingly strong, caught him instantly right in his underarms.

Are angels this strong?

She dragged Ben out of his car; how she managed to pull-out a six-foot-four and a man probably thrice his own weight was a question that Ben never bothered to answer. Instead, he was thankful that she was there, having enough strength to let him outside his car.

"I swear to the Maker, I came as soon as I heard your engine sputtering." The woman said both in panic and fear.

Oh, angels do get nervous.

"L..let me take you to the hospital." She cried, sounding really worried as she forcibly squished her palms on his cheeks.

"I..I'm fine..." Ben finally found his words. "...just bad migraine."

She clicked her tongue once more, obviously not believing his words. "No, we're going, Mr. Solo. Whether you like it or not!"

It was as if Ben was suddenly slapped in the face for despite how his head was swirling, the mere fact that the angel knew his name made him come to his senses.

Impossible, Ben thought. If he had encountered someone this heavenly, he would have remembered her for sure. Her face is not something one can easily forget.

"Do I know you?" He mumbled uncertainly.

He needed to know.


	5. The Hate She's Capable of Giving

Chapter 4: The Hate She's Capable of Giving

Have you ever been in a situation where you see a person and feel all emotions that a human can conjure? That dastardly feeling inside your chest as it pumps out excitement, shock, and then utter nervousness? Soon, it will be followed by a tinge of happiness and utmost expectation like you've never felt before? Like a deep craving, or urge to just jump and throw yourself to that person; hug him for your own selfish comfort and consolation? Then surprisingly, all reflexes would come into a halt; replaced suddenly with an unknown cringing pain, as if a giant hand was squeezing your heart out? Like a god damn heart attack, strong enough to make you pass out because of the sudden spike of anger, spite, and resentfulness?

It was a confusing feeling Rey was confronted with as soon as she saw a familiar black haired man sleeping inside his SUV. Those luscious raven locks that were as dark as a moonless night in Jakku seemed to be unforgettable even after all these years.

Benjamin Solo, the man whom her grandfather gave the highest regard; who, was treated by Obi-wan Kenobi, the most loving and understanding person Rey has ever known in her life, like his own son, finally showed himself, after all those years, after never bothering to attend her grandfather's funeral.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when Rey saw him in Stewjon. After all, it was her who called in an anonymous tip to the Bureau on possible cross-jurisdictional killings. But never did she expect that they would send Ben Solo. In fact, he wasn't even a candidate on her list of agents — if there was such a list. Rather, Rey was hoping that it was Kylo Ren who answered Stewjon's call for aid instead.

Still, the shock that consumed her was real and honest; too honest in fact, that she felt happy when she saw him.

Ben Solo was a familiar face ‒ from her grandfather's collection of photographs, to authored books. He is a person who cannot be dissociated from Obi-wan, if one is to talk about her grandfather. When you speak of Benjamin Kenobi, there's always Benjamin Solo, and when you talk about Solo, you have to bring up Kenobi.

Ben and Ben, that's how it always played out. They were a team; like two peas in a pod; inseparable. They work best when they're together and bring out the best in each other, or at least, that's what she heard during his grandfather's funeral.

But Rey had known that even before her grandfather died.

She didn't know Benjamin Solo personally, not then, and especially not now. Only that when she was younger, Obi-wan kept spewing words of the highest respect for him; always telling her that she should meet him because Rey would adore his intellect, maybe even be a competent candidate for her (sometimes ludicrous) debates. According to her grandfather, Ben Solo is not only smart, he is highly intelligent, but most of all, he is the kindest person that Obi-wan knew.

Compassionate, that was the word best to describe him according to her grandfather.

The stories about Ben Solo only grew as the years went by. There was never a time when Obi-wan went home where he wouldn't strike a conversation about his young partner. He would tell her of his relentlessness, passion, or even sometimes his stubbornness.

It was probably natural considering that her grandfather is a talker. Still, their topics never went on about his line of work. At home, work was just work for Obi-wan always spared her the details of what they do together in the Bureau. The closest thing Rey heard anything related to the Bureau's crime fighting business is Benjamin Solo.

Not that she's complaining. She liked hearing about him. For some reason, her grandfather's stories about Ben always kept her curious; excited, even. It made her wonder what it's like to solve crimes and all. It made her believe that she too can make a difference, just like how her grandfather and Ben Solo made a difference in the field of law enforcement.

For a young girl full of dreams and optimism, it would be an understatement that Ben Solo became her idol; keeping him in a high pedestal where he, in her own perception, was untouchable.

For Rey, Ben Solo can never do anything wrong.

Soon enough, her grandfather's stories became nothing more but stories. Eventually, Rey yearned for something else. She wanted to meet him; she wanted to personally listen to his intellect; craved to know about his opinions — his story.

She wasn't disappointed, for she met him once, ten years ago. And basing from how he reacted when she knocked on his car window, he didn't remember it — or her, for that matter.

—

Ten years ago, Stewjon

"What the hell is going on, grandpa?!" Fifteen year old Rey roared, standing by the door of their humble abode, hands already on her hips in pure irritation.

She just arrived from her friend Rose's house after doing a group assignment due tomorrow, expecting to be greeted by no one. Obi-wan was in Totooine for some Bureau business and wasn't supposed to be home for another week. But the sight of her grandfather arriving earlier than scheduled surprised her. But what's even more shocking is that he came home flat out drunk, and pretty much disorderly.

Rey's eyes trailed; watching intently at the unruly sight of her not-so-young grandfather walking criss-cross; wobbling to assist, or literally drag his drunker companion towards their house. He had this young man, whose hair was black as a moonless night in Jakku, underneath his underarms as they stupidly staggered together on their driveway.

Who is he? She thought.

A minute and a few swaying steps later, the young man broke from her grandfather's already flimsy support, struggling to keep his balance while he comically waved his long arms in the air. He seemed excited, Rey thought. But at the same time he could just be so wasted. Anyway, the black haired man then said something to Obi-wan — something close to gibberish, which was surprisingly answered by her grandfather with the same unknown language. They ended up laughing after that conversation, which made Rey raise a brow.

She thought she heard them talk about arresting people, but she's not sure. Still, how they understood each other despite all that slurring, she'll never know.

Adults are so weird, she thought.

"Shit, Ben, you're fucking drunk." Finally, her grandfather was speaking their language.

The name rang on Rey's ears like a loud church bell. She gulped, trying to swallow the sudden nervousness she was feeling. She heard that name so many times from her grandfather's stories, and for so long, she always wondered when she would finally meet the infamous Benjamin Solo.

Looks like she will finally do so, but she was hoping that well, he would be sober. Still, Ben Solo's drunken state never bothered Rey, for at least she would finally meet him, or talk to him, if the circumstances would permit it.

It was probably too much of her excitement that Rey ran towards their driveway with the intention to assist her grandfather. Lo and behold, she ended up staring — staring at the man who was now back on Obi-wan's underarms.

Despite all the stories Rey heard about Ben Solo's character as a young agent in the Republic Bureau of Investigation, Obi-wan forgot to mention that he actually looked pleasing to the eyes.

It surprised her for Rey never really imagined what he would actually look like, because why would she? Boys — men, in general (with the exception of her grandfather) are disgusting. Who needs boys when you can fight crime like Bureau Agents? Also, Ben Solo's mere intellect was enough to keep her interested. He can look like garbage for all she cares, and she will still listen to him talk.

But this, how can a man be intelligent and at the same time have a very handsome face?

The truth is, Rey could not see him clearly, especially when his head was bowed down as if he already fell asleep. But his long lashes caught her attention, and that nose too; too sharp for any man in existence yet it complemented the shape of his long strong face. His lips, puckering to form a frown.

Her heart skipped a beat when he began to move. He slowly cocked his head up, confusingly glancing at his surroundings before he finally fixed his eyes on her. He squinted, observing her, before tilting his head to the side like a confused pup.

"Do I know you?" He slurred.

Her insides started flipping upside down when Ben Solo's pitch black eyes stared at her. But instead of feeling nauseous, she felt ticklish. Couple that with the feeling of her heart stopping, then immediately pumping hard like it had literally broken inside her chest. It felt like she was having a heart attack, for some unknown reason. She gulped, literally taking a step back.

What is going on? She thought.

"A—hem." Obi-wan cleared his throat, which made Rey come to her sense. "A little help, please?" He said as he raised a brow at his dumbstruck granddaughter.

Rey immediately did what she was told, hoping that her drunk grandfather didn't notice her breath had started to hitch after staring inappropriately at his partner. She then nervously took Ben Solo's free hand and placed it around her neck, silently telling her stupid heart to calm down.

Shit, she wanted to curse, but no way she will in front of her grandfather. The man smelled like Tabaco, which she should hate. Rey had been around men with unconscionable vices but surprisingly she didn't hate Ben Solo for it.

Weird. Instead, the smell of cigarettes made all of her blood rush towards her face.

It was probably because she was using too much energy in carrying him — he is fucking heavy. Still, her lips curled inappropriately as she leaned closer, in the guise of helping Ben Solo.

Who knew there's someone out there who's pretty much perfect?

Until he isn't.

Truth be told; it's hard to take care of a drunk man — make that two.

Rey spent most of the night running — towards her grandfather and his partner as they alternately hurled like distressed crows. Obi-wan was on the living room bathroom while Ben Solo, well, Rey thinks he already passed out in her room's bathroom.

Handsome men aside, they are still, in general, a pain in the ass.

When the cawing stopped, Rey thought she finally had some peace and quiet. Both men apparently had finally exhausted themselves from too much vomiting, until they freakin' didn't.

It was Obi-wan who initiated a second round of drinking session. How he got the energy or the senses to obtain a bottle of wine and wine glasses from their kitchen cupboard was beyond comprehensible to Rey. But he ended up walking towards her room, only to kick Ben Solo from his alcohol induced slumber. Well, his partner jolted awake as easily as he passed out. It was too quick to notice but Ben and Obi-wan were soon seen headed to their house's backyard for another round.

Rey would have prevented it, being the sober (and most responsible) human being amongst the three of them. But she never really wanted to be the cause of disturbance, neither did she want to stop these child-like adults from having fun.

Unlike most grown-ups Rey came across with in the past, she had never seen her grandfather drink. Neither has there ever been a sight of Obi-wan smiling and giggling like crazy regarding anything related to their job in the Bureau. More often than not, every time Obi-wan comes home from his travels, Rey could always notice the stress underneath those grey caring eyes. When she asks, the answer would always be the same: 'nothing, honey.' And then their conversation would deviate to Ben Solo — always.

Anyhow, it was of her reasonable judgment that her grandfather and his partner were celebrating. Something good must have happened, and she too, was curious to know about it.

Rey ended up sitting on the floor near their backdoor. She swung it a little open, blocking it with a piece of silverware so she can hear the conversation of the intoxicated adults. Since she allowed them to drink like crazy, she decided for herself that her reward for such generous act is to eavesdrop.

Rey wasn't disappointed for she finally got to know what her grandfather does in the Republic Bureau of Investigation. Who knew her grandfather was in the business of catching criminals? Not just ordinary criminals, but serial killers.

Behind the slurring, the drunk talk, and the smell of cigarette filling in her nostrils, Ben and Ben started conversing about Wicket Warwick, his wife, Zorra, their eldest son Temmin, and daughter, Sabinne.

They were a rich family who lived somewhere in Tatooine; a family which sourced all of their income from the mining industry. It was a thriving business, and even employed almost all of the people living in the town where their larger than life mansion was situated.

But the family's life was disturbed by a phone call to the police. Zorra, the wife, had reported that their daughter was kidnapped.

By this time, young Rey gulped uncertainly, contemplating if she was ready to hear such things. She shouldn't be listening to grown men talk. She should know better — her grandfather taught her better. But Ben Solo's voice was the sweetest temptation that it made her brush off her indecisiveness.

He spoke finally; lowly and calmly. Despite slurring some of his words, his voice was music to her ears. It sounded deep and smoky, as if he was lulling someone to sleep or doing something unknown which caused the butterflies sleeping inside Rey's stomach to rouse. But at the same time, his speaking voice was crisp, pure; with conviction and confidence that it made Rey lean towards the open door frame for a peek.

"She was so sure that her daughter was kidnapped." He said. "Why not say she was lost, or better yet, missing. That in itself was enough to raise a red flag." Ben Solo continued.

Rey raised a brow while biting her thumb to ponder. What was so wrong in speaking to the cops and telling them that their daughter was kidnapped? She raked her brain, but couldn't understand.

The older Benjamin was quick to trigger his reply, answering Rey's question unwittingly. "Because the mother knew she wasn't. It was to confuse the cops."

A sharp gasp echoed Rey's lips, one that she tried to muffle with her hands. She wasn't ready to take that information in. How in the world can a parent — a mother— have a hand in her own daughter's disappearance? Rey chewed her lips both nervousness and in anticipation of what's about to come next. Stealthily, she crawled on the floor on all fours, exposing her head on their porch. She waited for Ben and Ben to explain; give further insights, or even a conclusion on what happened to little Sabinne. But nothing came out but nods and smirks. Then their conversation seem to deviate into something else — one filled with celebratory cheers, egotistical jabs, mutual roasting, laughing, sarcasm and a whole lot of inappropriate curses.

Oh, c'mon, Rey thought this time. She itched to know the continuation of the Warwick Family story, but these booze-filled adults didn't seem to want to continue. Rey tried to wait, until she saw Ben Solo starting to doze off again — in his seat — while holding a cigarette in his hand. Her grandfather on the other hand, was busily drawing random circles on the table as if he was already bored.

What the flip? Rey gritted her teeth in impatience.

"What happened to Sabinne?!" Rey shouted finally; charging, as she bursted through their back door.

It was as if both men were doused with ice cold water. Obi-wan almost fell from his seat out of sheer shock, while Ben Solo, bawled his sleepy eyes wide open. Out of reflex, he instantaneously threw his cigarette behind him as if he was caught red handed in doing something bad.

The younger man then gulped nervously; his eyes staring at Obi-wan, then at Rey, then back to Obi-wan. "There's a kid!" He said stupidly. "Kenobi, there's a mother fuuu— flubbing kid in your house!" He continued, still in shock.

Rey crossed her arms, annoyed at the fact that Ben Solo was too drunk to remember that he already saw her and too intoxicated to notice the fact that she was the one who rubbed his back when he was vomiting endlessly in her bathroom — in her own freaking bathroom!

"I'm not a kid!" Rey answered defensively.

Her tone caught Ben Solo off guard for he jolted; scared, probably, at being shouted at by a teenager.

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping, Rey?" It was her grandfather's turn to talk.

Rey froze at that.

"Y...you're so noisy, I cannot sleep." She said trying to sound convincing.

"Pfft." Ben Solo cut the conversation, holding a chuckle. He folded his arms towards his chest; his biceps, protruding nicely underneath the white long sleeves he was wearing.

Rey immediately blushed on sight before subconsciously taking a step back. She can't believe she's blushing at the sight of arms.

"I didn't know you knew how to raise a kid right, Kenobi." Ben shook his head in disbelief, his attention now on the older Ben. "The kid can't even lie to save her ass— buttocks." Ben Solo continued, trying to sound kid friendly but utterly failing.

Obi-wan chuckled, agreeing with his young partner. "You can't fool us, honey. We study pathological liars for a living." Her grandfather smiled proudly.

Rey bit her lip, taking time to observe the two men before her. They were drunk, she'd established that a while back already. Two, her grandfather was spewing too much information. He never does that when he's sober. Three, she has to know what happened to the Warwick Family.

A random idea sprang into her head. Since they're close to being wiped out, why not take advantage of that? "So... about Sabinne..." Rey started once more.

This time, Obi-wan stood. He staggered towards his little girl, rustling her hair into a giant mess. "Nice try, honey. How about we all go to sleep." He finally said as he went inside their house.

Rey attempted to fix her hair as she puckered her lips in disappointed. But her eyes soon sparkled in hope — there's one drunk person left. If she cannot obtain information from her grandfather, maybe the more intoxicated Ben would provide answers.

"Not gonna happen, kid." Ben Solo smirked, as if he read her thoughts.

"Oh c'mon!" Rey finally let out her frustration as she childishly stomped her feet.

He laughed soon after, a guttural, yet fruity and hearty chuckle. "So you're Rey." He mumbled as he took glass of wine close to his lips. "I thought you'd be... tinier..." He raised his free hand to put his pointing finger and thumb close to each other.

"...and with pigtails, and a porg stuffed toy." He slurred.

Rey rolled her eyes. Seriously, her grandfather needs to change that picture already, she thought. "It's a picture taken many, many years ago." Rey crossed her arms, annoyed. "I'm fifteen."

"And I'm twenty-five." Ben Solo answered proudly — randomly — that it made Rey finally sigh in defeat.

It was no use to talking to Ben Solo at this point. At least her grandfather was coherent. This handsome guy though, he's beyond hopeless.

But Ben Solo smirked once more, mumbling her age, before emptying the contents of his glass straight. He wiped the excess liquor on his mouth with the back of his palm before reclining comfortably in his seat.

"So, Sabinne..." He surprisingly brought up the topic.

Rey gasped, fidgeting excitedly. Soon, she dragged a chair to sit right in front of Ben. She brought her arms on the table, clasping her hands as if she was in prayer.

On second thought, maybe he's not hopeless.

"What happened to Sabinne?" She whispered, keeping her voice soft and low.

Ben shrugged, taking his pack of cigarettes but let go of the chance.

"I... I can let you smoke." Rey said, trying to bribe the only remaining adult in their porch.

Ben Solo chuckled once more, this time brushing his raven hair with his long slender fingers. "Oh Maker, you should be an agent of the Bureau."

He was probably teasing, but Rey took it seriously. She wanted to be like her grandfather someday.

"How...how can I when you don't even give me a chance!" Rey cried, but her tone faltered into a whisper, remembering that her grandfather was just inside somewhere... sleeping or something.

This time, Ben Solo was silent; staring at her more than he should. His dark drunk eyes began moving slowly— from her face, to her shoulders, then to her still clasped hands. Finally, he took a cigarette, placing it in between his lips. He inhaled without lighting the white stick in his mouth.

"Alright." He straightened in his seat.

Rey gasped in response, surprised. She didn't know why Ben Solo suddenly decided to talk. It's not like she did anything to further convince him. But that didn't matter now for he started to speak.

"...I'll give you the facts. But you have to figure it out. I'll finish a stick in your driveway. When I come back I need an answer."

Rey nodded furiously, with every intention of listening. "Like a game?" She grinned.

Ben smirked at that. "Yes, like a game."

The evidence overwhelmed Rey that it made her head throb momentarily. In between the information that Ben Solo tried to sugar coat, the cold hard truth easily surfaced. Sabinne Warwick is dead. Not only that, Luminara Unduli, Zorra's sister and Wicket's sister-in-law, was also found dead — floating on a quarry in the family's mine, murdered by a disgruntled miner.

There were so many facts to consider. The Bureau agent started from the family's history; the relationship of the couple; of the siblings. Then, for some reason, her grandfather's partner spent a lot of time emphasizing on the eldest son's upbringing; his character — on how he was basically a spoiled brat. And then he was done.

"...that's it?" Rey cocked a brow at Ben Solo.

"Yup." Ben stood, picking up his lighter with him. "I'll give you five minutes."

"Wha..t?" Rey protested.

"Stop whining and start thinking, kid." Ben teased before waving a hand.

"Stop calling me a kid!" Rey hissed, but Ben was too far now to hear her.

Before Rey knew it, her five minutes were up. Ben Solo was back in his seat, circling his pointing finger on the wine glass' rim.

"So? Who killed Sabinne?" He mumbled, propping both of his elbows on top of the table; his hands underneath his chin. He leaned in too close that Rey got slightly distracted.

But she frowned at his question soon after. Out of the information Ben Solo had given her, she had nothing.

Ben smiled, sweet but undeniably short that she almost failed to notice it. "Think, Rey." He uttered, giving her a little boost of confidence. It was as if he figured what she was thinking again.

"Uhhh..." Rey mimicked Ben Solo's gesture, planting one of her hands on her chin, while her other hand rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. She yawned, fighting the urge to sleep. One by one, Rey began to slowly repeat all the facts in her head.

She stood up suddenly, slamming her fists on the table. "I know who did it."

Ben Solo smirked in anticipation. "I'm all ears, kid."

"Temmin." Rey whispered in pure conviction. "It was the son who did it."

Slowly, Ben's eyes trailed from his wine glass towards Rey. Unlike when he was showing her different emotions a while ago, Ben Solo never smiled when she answered him. If there was anything, it was only his jet black eyes flickering with the fluorescent lighting above them.

He stood soon after, doing the same thing as her grandfather did just a while ago — mess her hair.

"Why don't we come inside?" He said sweetly. "It's way past your bedtime, sweetheart." He mumbled, not telling Rey if her answer had been correct.

—

Fast forward to today, Rey sometimes wonder why Ben Solo never bothered to confirm her answer. Her younger self had to research, conjure her own theories in order to determine who really killed Sabinne. But it's not as if her resources were plenty. Asking her grandfather was a no-no, considering that Ben Solo would be in trouble for giving details of a gruesome family crime to a fifteen year-old girl. Research materials were also scarce. It's not as if she can travel to Tatooine in order to retrieve case files.

In short, her mind was always bothered who killed that poor girl. It wasn't until later that she found out who really did it.

Ten years from that alcohol-laden conversation, Rey figured that she was right all this time.

Temmin Warwick. It was Temmin Warwick who killed his little sister Sabinne. Rey was sure about it now because she read a newspaper article about the Warwick Family Murders on its tenth year anniversary.

Not only was her answer on point, but her theories had also been correct — to some extent.

Temmin, the favorite son; the brother who was ten years senior to his sister, was a god damn spoiled piece of shit. He got away with almost anything, from misdemeanors to accusations of physical injuries to their mining employees and house helpers, and even when he choked her little sister to death.

As to the basis of the altercation that led that 16-year old boy to wrap his hands on his sister's neck, Rey will never know. But one thing was certain — he got pissed, then killed her.

And since he was the favorite, the parents, specifically the mother, got out of her way to protect her only son from incarceration. A call to the police, and she reported that little Sabinne was missing.

With the information she obtained as a fifteen year old researcher, that's how far her theories went. Well, at least she was correct. But the Warwick Family story had been even more elaborate.

Temmin— his parents— would have gotten away with it, after all, Sabinne's corpse was ever found. But a mistake was committed, one that caused the whole freaking family to be arrested by the Bureau. Luminara Unduli, the sister-in-law, whose carcass was found floating in a quarry of the family mine.

At first, Rey thought that Luminara's death was never connected to the death of Sabinne. After all, someone else was blamed for the crime. But why did Ben Solo specifically mentioned it when he was telling her all the evidence. That fact stuck out like a sore thumb. Still, she never learned of the connection until she was in the police academy.

It was blunt force trauma on the head that was Luminara's cause of death and not drowning on that muddy quarry as the police initially thought. The head injuries were seemingly too light of a strike to be caused by a grown man. Eventually, the police have to make an arrest, and it was Temmin.

And how did they find that out? Through Ben and Ben's psychological and behavioral analysis.

Still, an arrest was just one part of this gruesome crime. Who broke Temmin and the parents into confession? Benjamin-motherfucking-Solo.

In short, her grandfather had been right about him, and Rey was correct in believing her grandfather's words — Ben Solo is highly intellectual. But, so what? What good does his intelligence serve if he didn't have heart.

She may have placed Ben Solo on a pedestal but that structure had been broken, smashed and destroyed. Their little game may have been the trigger why chose to be a detective in the first place but what does it have to do with her now?

Nothing.

Not when he treated her grandfather like he was nothing. She hated him; loathed him for not even paying last respects to the man who treated him like his own fucking son.

Compassionate, my ass, she thought.

She can't believe she idolized an apathetic man like him; let alone consider him to be her first crush.

"Fuck!" Rey hissed, gritting her teeth in anger as she leaned her head on the white washed walls.

"Excuse me?" A man, also in white, asked.

Rey immediately stood, apologizing for cursing in front of the doctor.

The doctor scratched his head, finally disregarding her nonsense. "Well, no traces of carbon monoxide were found in the patient's blood."

"Oh." Rey exhaled a sigh of relief. "Good." She mumbled. "So he'll be alright?" She said nonchalantly, uncontrolled anger creeping underneath her skin.

"Yeah, he's —"

"Can I leave now?" Rey said, both of her brows shooting up the ceiling in impatience.

"Uhhh... yes...?" The doctor said unsurely. "But— he's slightly anemic. Not life threatening but most of the time it's caused by the patient's lifestyle. The patient probably hasn't been sleeping well in weeks or eating properly —"

Rey placed her hands on her hips before rolling her eyes. "So let him sleep here." She pointed out before marching away towards the emergency room exit.

She sighed soon after, wondering why she even saved Ben Solo from his own impending death. He can die for all she cares and she won't even blink an eye.

She will never forgive him for abandoning her grandfather.


End file.
